When He's Mine
by Cloud van Dyk
Summary: One-shot, Post AC, CloTi... sorta. Tifa ponders her "relationship" with Cloud and why she let's him do what he does. Rated T for hints at bed action. It's been ages since I wrote FF VII and published here, so please be nice.


When He's Mine

The bedroom smelled of sweat and the scents of their lovemaking, her heart still racing in her chest as she lay on her back, panting. She took a moment to regain her senses, then rolled over, her hand finding his chest and caressing the heated skin there tenderly; he let it happen for a moment, then took her hand and pushed it away with a low grunt, getting out of the bed in the next second.

Without saying a word, Tifa watched how he put on his clothes again, collecting them from where they had been scattered in the room as she had undressed him; her own clothing was just as scattered, but she didn't bother getting up and putting it on, as it was time to sleep anyway.

"Cloud…" The word, his name, hung in the air, waiting for him to react; he only did by throwing her a short glance, mumbling "Good night" afterwards, the door falling close behind him as he stepped out of the room. Motionless, she stared at the wood of said door, her heartbeat slowing down, back to normal; seconds passed, turned into minutes before she finally tore her gaze away, her ruby eyes now saddened.

She let herself fall on her back, her gaze fixing at the ceiling as her fingers curled around the blanket and pulled it over her naked body; she still could feel his touch there, feel him inside her, hear his moans as he reached the top of his lust. She closed her eyes as all of a sudden, hot tears threatened to fill them; once again, she asked herself why she let him do this to her, why she always received him willingly when he decided to come to her.

It had been months since he had returned, and had defeated the sickness that had invaded his body; she had been hoping that they would share a normal life once he was back to full health, that he would stay this time and be hers. He did stay, alright; he wasn't hers though, not the way she wanted him to be, and by now, she knew he never would.

The few people who knew what she let him do to her, do with her, called her a fool, asked her why she let him treat her like that; she couldn't explain it to them though, she couldn't even explain it to herself, despite the fact she barely could look at herself anymore.

A heavy sigh escaped her as she laid in the dark, the scent of their lovemaking filling the air; she wondered dully when he would come to her again, when his lust would guide him into her arms again.

That it was mere lust he felt for her, she knew by now; he didn't love her, probably never had and never would, this she knew as well, but still she let him come to her regularly, welcomed him with open arms when he stepped into her room at night, and gave herself to him in a way only lovers should give themselves to each other.

Deep inside, she knew that he was happy with this, that he didn't want more than that from her, didn't want more than a casual time in bed every now and then; if he knew that she wanted more, he ignored it – and why not? It was working well as it was, she reflected bitterly, there was no reason for him to change anything.

And still, she let it be that way, let him be that way; she never tried to make what they had more than what it was, never tried to change their relationship to something deeper, something more meaningful. She was honest enough with herself to admit why she let him use her that way, as using her was what he did – as long as she was there for him when he felt he needed her, he would stay, it wouldn't scare him away if she just shared her bed with him every now and then and didn't even try to ask for more.

She wondered dully if this way of thinking made her the slut some people thought her to be, if it made her a horrible person; deep inside, she knew though that even if it would be so, she wouldn't care – after all, Cloud never would be hers the way she wanted him to be, but when she laid with him, he was hers at least for a while, he was with her and she could pretend that he loved her while he moved inside her, touched her, kissed the skin of her neck and chest.

He never kissed her lips, never had done so just once during the months she had shared her bed with him; this she ignored as much as the fact that they would be just friends in the morning after, that there never would be wedding bells for her with him by her side, that she never would give birth to their children.

He'd never be hers the way she wanted him to be, but he was hers when she laid with him, even if it lasted not even for a night, even if he retreated to his own room after he had found his pleasure – he was hers then, the way she always had been his, for more than that, no matter if he saw it or not.

And maybe, some day, he'd want her to be his for more than that as well.


End file.
